Headstrong & Humility
by schnook
Summary: Reader, it must be said: love is the hardest thing in the world. There is no superficial truth beyond this simple fact. - Sequel to Pride and Prejudice, in the style of J.A. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

"_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."_

_Pride and Prejudice_

In the English country side, there are often very few surprises.

What are deemed as surprises, are rarely worthy of the amount of time and attention that is bestowed upon them, and when they are over, and the buzz has vaporized; the small little English town moves on, eagerly anticipating the next main event to divert its attention from their usual mundane practices.

In such a small town, by that of the name of Hertfordshire, a certain Mrs. Bennet had been giving an unusually large amount of time to the practice of being silent. Being that of a erratic, and slightly egotistical character, the silence that had moved over Mrs. Bennet on this particular day was both worrying and brought about a mark of relief at the same time. Though her quietened disposition was out of her usual nature, it was to be expected on this particular day; as it was the anniversary of her husbands passing eleven years ago.

Truth be told, Mr. Bennet had lived longer than anyone had expected. Although he himself preferred to entertain the idea of outliving his lively wife, his death came unexpectedly as it did swiftly. It was the event that the Bennets had been expecting and fearing; the death of their favorite protagonist. And if three out of the five girls had not been married and settled before the sad occasion, Mrs. Bennet would have had twice the cause to worry about, as the estate was now in the hands of their cousin; Mr. William Collins.

Unlike the morbid predictions Mrs. Bennet had often excited about their being turned out and left homeless, Mr. Collins had been quite gallant (with no doubt the encouragement of his wife, Charlotte) toward their staying in the house till suitable accommodation was found. This period had been intended by Mr. Collins to last only a few months, but the stubbornness and will of Mrs. Bennet had managed to extend the stay out over the course of nine years. So along with the wounded pangs of her husbands memorial that haunted her on this day every year, Mrs. Bennet also received a letter from Mr. Collins himself, portraying the urgent need for her to find residence elsewhere, he wrote:

_Dear Mrs. Bennet,_

_I would first like to take this opportunity to grant you and your recently married daughter every happiness that the Lord allows. Miss Mary Bennet, although taking her time, has finally allowed herself to be caught and carried away by one of the most worthiest gentleman I had been ever able to boast of being an acquaintance of. Upon relating the exciting news to Lady Catherine De Bourgh, she had the kindness to offer her congratulations on finding a man for one of your daughters who was finally at your own level of society. _

_Seeing now that all your fair daughters have married, and even started families of their own, I would now like to once again raise the tender subject that has brought much tension between our two families for years. Seeing that Charlotte and I will be soon releasing our own son from our care in our humble parsonage, you must understand that from the beginning it was decided that the Bennet property was intended for my son when he became of age to claim it. Now that that time is drawing near, I must urge you with all firmness to consider your options, and find a humble abode that will surely suit a person in your predicament._

_On my son, William junior's 20th birthday, I must inform you that arrangements have been made for him to let out your – or rather my – estate. Please understand that this is the law, and not the way I wish things to be._

_Yours truly,_

_William Collins._

Mrs. Bennet read and re-read the letter for quite some time; trying to make some sort of sense from it. When misunderstanding slowly withdrew from her, and the letters meaning dawned on her, it was replaced with indignant rage and hostility. To be turned out of her own home – the home she had raised her girls in, the home where her husband died – and forced to take up other residency for a boy of inferior rank and social standing was almost too much for her nerves to bare. Her previous haunting dreams of Charlotte Collins being mistress of her own home abandoned her for an even more dreadful image – a ravenous, young, impertinent boy taking her place in her home, and using it to hold all kinds of devious tricks and morally-corrupt practices. True, she had not seen this boy since his christening almost twenty years ago (when poor Mr. Bennet was still alive and well), as family connections weakened and time grew scarce upon her own grandchildren coming into the world. How could she have grown attached to a mere boy, who wasn't even a direct relation, when her dear Jane brought little Henry into the world fifteen years ago, and Lizzie gave birth to young Jane eighteen years ago. But how would she ever fulfill the part of a loving relation when she would have no home to entertain them in? It all seemed too impossible for poor Mrs. Bennet.

If the death of Mr. Bennet brought money troubles and tremors onto Mrs. Bennet's poor nerves, then the death also brought the girls great grief and anxiety. Perhaps Elizabeth Darcy was the one to feel it most acutely; as her relationship and kinship with her father remained strong till the very end. Jane, of course, assisted and comforted Lizzie where Mr. Darcy could not; there is a miraculous bond held between sisters, and the two elder former Miss Bennets were no exception to that common understanding. As a mother, Lizzie held fast to the rituals of her home to keep everything in place; as running an estate like Pemberley would be far from easy. Doing this helped her to push past the shock and gaping loss her father's death left in her, and with the constant love from her family, she got through the ordeal, being also of a strong mindset.

Mrs. Bennet had very little money; a stark contrast to her two eldest daughters, who had the good fortune of being able to marry for love, and have the benefit of material security. Lydia and Kitty struggled more than their dear mother, though, and Lizzie and Jane found themselves constantly donating to the causes of their way-ward sisters. Their mother, too, was always a benefactor of their generosity, a fact Mrs. Bennet had perhaps grown a little too complacent with.

So once again, in Mrs. Bennet's hour of need, she immediately considered her two eldest daughters. Though eccentric, Mrs. Bennet kept enough wisdom to know asking her children to purchase a home for her would be out of the question. However, a little assistance in the matter would be perfectly respectable, especially if no one else in the community was informed of that assistance. But then where would she go? The idea of lowering her standards, or even size of house was not acceptable to her, even though it was just her, the cook and two servants. Instead, she caught herself up in raptures of pearl-white marbled staircases and long, elegantly furnished parlors. How agreeable it must be for her two eldest daughters to live in such splendor! And Lizzie! Oh, Jane's fortune was nothing to the Darcys. They are the talk of the town, even after twenty years of marriage, and the envy of every family there ever was.

An idea was brewing up inside the shallow depths of Mrs. Bennet's mind. Being a shallow, vain sort of woman, she began to fancy herself living with one of her children. Besides, their houses had ample enough space – why, they wouldn't even be able to find her in all those rooms! Jane would Charles would accept her without a second thought; they were the sort of people who couldn't deny anyone anything. But the style and luxury of the Darcys held an illusive charm to Mrs. Bennet, something her vanity could hardly withstand. She would write to them, surely there would be no harm in asking.

-------------------

Elizabeth Darcy looked up from the somewhat hastily written letter from her erratic mother. Her expression showed something of fear, disgust, concern and sympathy all at once. She read it again quickly – being an experienced reader – then handed it to her husband. Mr. Darcy took the letter a little apprehensively, something he always did whenever it was a letter from any of Elizabeth's less bred relations. He flicked through it carefully, critically; his face falling further as he continued to read.

"I don't like it," he commented, as if the decision was already made. His wife usually supported his decisions; their thinking had been trained alike after their many years of marriage, but at this stage Elizabeth was shaking her head.

"She will be in no one's way," she argued, then sighed, "she is growing old, Fitzwilliam, this upheaval will stress her to no end. We must help."

Fitzwilliam knew his cause was already lost. He couldn't deny his wife anything; for he worshiped the ground she walked on. Her wish was his command, and if having her mother live with them, he would invite all the Bennets in the country to their residence just the have Lizzie content.

"Fine; I will see to her room is ready," he conceded as he turned to complete the odious task, then he remembered something, "however, the responsibility of bearing the good news to Jane falls on you. Just be sure I'm out of this place when you do inform her."

Jane had grown up to adapt traits of both her parents, though she predominantly resembled her mother. Now a dark, handsome young woman of eighteen, she was headstrong and opinionated, her pride being her main fault. Unlike her father, whose pride had been misinterpreted and rightly acquired, Jane held herself on a pride based on who she was and who her family were. Although caring and generous, she held herself higher than her comrades, and found a certain distaste in dwelling idly in the country. This did not drive common society away from her, though. It was something of a spectacle to be in the company of Jane Darcy, whose fiery character entertained them to no end. Though she had many little faults, they were often hard to distinguish as vice or virtue. Her sharp eyes and tongue could be a credit to her keen intelligence and powers of observation, however, they were also often the target of much lecturing and oppression, as they often led her to trouble, such as quick judgments.

It usually fell on Elizabeth to communicate any important information to their only daughter, though it was not to be said she was the primary carer; on the contrary, Jane Darcy had no unique bond to either of her parents, as she fueled herself on a rather independent nature. She respected and honored them, but neither qualified themselves as her confidant.

The only true companion and confidant Jane possessed was Mr. Collins junior himself. Upon hearing the news of her grandmothers soon-to-be arrival, Jane thought for this once it might not be best to communicate with her friend, who might feel some awkwardness or shame in the event.

The young friends did not meet often, and when the occasion did arise it was a time slot between years. In fact, Jane had not personally seen her friend for over four years, but had instead kept up a steady stream of letters, which usually included notes on her mother, on whom William's mother – Charlotte Lucas – was keenly interested in, and doted on. It was no secret, though, that the friendship had been discouraged as they had grown older; a possible reason for William's absence. It was not proper, especially for a family's daughter as scrutinized and watched as the Darcys, to maintain such a strong relationship with a male who was not even blood related to them. Jane did not argue this; she may be a spitting image of her mother in looks and character, but she respected decorum and order, something that may be attributed to her pride rather than concern for moral decency.

So, as it was, Jane had no particular reason to write of this news to her friend, as their kinship had already began to cool, and they had distanced themselves considerably.

The sheets were pressed, the wardrobes dusted, the fireplaces stacked to a regal standard. Mrs. Bennet was due to arrive in one hour, shortly followed by her luggage. The Darcys had grown anxious; they had grown comfortable to socialize in their own company, and had been perfectly content at helping Elizabeth's poorer relations; as long as they were kept at a considerable distance. It was not a snobbish regard for the people of restricted means that captured this want of distance, instead it was the obvious lack of propriety that made her company at the best of times intolerable.

Half an hour after she was expected, Mrs. Bennet arrived, bringing with her disorganization and scandal.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Bennet's arrival was nothing short of a spectacle.

Arriving fashionably late, with an injured air toward the entire world, and with grateful appreciation toward the Darcys for their unconditional kindness. She showered bitter words on the subject of the Collins', all of which Lizzie shrugged off with an indifference toward the accusations, and praised her own daughter and esteemed son-in-law for their hospitality, while taking time to remark on the growing beauty of Jane. While these ceremonies were being performed, the Darcys remained silent.

"Oh! But those Collins'! What dreadful people they are to turn out a helpless widower such as myself, and of my age, too! It is more than my nerves can stand! Not that I am complaining – no, grateful souls such as myself never complain even through the hardest of times. However, my nerves do flutter! Woe is the life I have been living!"

Mrs. Bennet continued to rant, until her 'poor nerves' had calmed, and she had been revived with endless cups of tea. It wasn't until some time later she inspected her surroundings, particularly the young woman sitting across the room.

"Why, my dear Jane," she held out a frail hand toward her, "you have not set a word all this time, have you nothing to say to your dear grand-mama? I should imagine you eager to be out in society, rather than coped up in here with such an old widower as myself." Jane reluctantly made her way over to grasp the withering hand into her slim, white ones. She did her best to smile at the woman, careful to make her tone far from reproving.

"How could you assume I would not care for you, dear? I stayed home today to help you settle in, and to be of assistance to you," she said kindly, planting a kiss on the older woman's forehead.

Mrs. Bennet murmured a sigh in approval. She petted Jane; Jane was handsome and intelligent, and reminded her so much of Lizzie as a younger woman. Though she had always preferred the gentle countenance of her own eldest daughter, she knew Jane was a well brought up child.

"And how does your writing get on, dear?" Mrs. Bennet inquired.

It was well known throughout the family that Jane was an excellent writer, often writing short, characteristic, and even comical pieces, to amuse themselves and guests through the festive nights. It was one of her little accomplishments that all her family took to with pride, for no one in the family was as handy with a pen as Jane.

Elizabeth crossed the room to lay her hands on her daughters shoulders, eager to express her pride in Jane's accomplishments. She spoke for her, as Jane was unusually modest when it came to boasting on the topic of her work.

"Jane's writing improves, mamma. Perhaps tonight we might persuade her to share with us one of her latest works," Lizzie smiled down assuredly at her daughter, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

At this Jane shook her head furiously, her cheeks turning pink. "Oh, no, no, please. I would be happy to share it with the ones I love; but it has not yet finished. It must be heard in full; I will have it no other way," she smirked, as she knew she would be granted her wish.

"Of course you must share it with us when you are ready, Jane. Works are all the more wonderful when they are completed," this came from Mr. Darcy, who was, as usual, standing at the back of the room, positioned by the window.

"Thank you, father," Jane exhaled in relief.

"There is a good girl now," Mrs. Bennet crooned affectionately, "would you be a dear and check to see if James has brought my letters yet; I am afraid I can not move out of this wonderfully comfortable lounge. Oh – dear Lizzie, I have not yet told you of what the doctor has said about my knee. He told me if my nerves would but quieten, the pangs should subside, but as you see how can I quieten which such upheavals when...."

Jane ran up the stairs to seek out James, hearing her Grandmother's voice grow fainter as she described the trivial characteristics of old age to her disinterested mother. How glum it would be, while Mrs. Bennet would be here. She knew she would not be able to feel true freedom again till she left, as she would probably end up being her chief carer. Mrs. Bennet's arrival also frightened Jane, as she has known for quite some time of her Grandmother's open desires to see her married already. Her parents, of course, told her to pay no mind to it, as marriage was something to be done when the time was ready, not when forced. But still, now with Mrs. Bennets constant company, surely there would be talk of nothing else but suitors, marriage, and fortune. And they were the three things Jane despised the most. Though being a proud, headstrong woman, she was not materialistic or shallow, a concept her Grandmother seemed to have trouble understanding.

James was eventually found, and her Grandmother's, and their own, letters collected. She made her way back down to the party, and dispensed the letters among them. While they examined them privately, Elizabeth was the first to speak.

"There is to be a gathering at the Collins' – wait, no. It will be held on the estate that is Lady Catherine De Bourgh, but will be in honor of the Collins-"

Mrs. Bennet snorted superiorly, "_honor,_" she quoted.

Elizabeth ignored her remark, but continued to read. "In honor of the Collins and their son, William. We are all invited to attend."

"I doubt _I_ shall go; those Collins' are such dreadful people, and I rather doubt they had any intention of inviting me, it must be for your family, Lizzie," Mrs. Bennet said somewhat sulkily.

"You are specifically included on the invitation, mama."

At this Mrs. Bennet perked up. "Well, if Lady Catherine shall be the host in a way, and desires _my_ company, than how can I refuse such a kind offer? And why should they not invite me? I am a poor, old widow; it is their responsibility to ensure my spirits are kept high. Which – I must inform you – have been rather down lately."

Lizzie only sighed.

"Shall we go, father?" Jane asked her father, who ultimately made the decisions when his wife did not.

"I am afraid so, Jane. Lady Catherine is my Aunt, so I am afraid we cannot escape the acquaintance now," Mr. Darcy said, disappointed. He nodded once with indifferent courtesy to Mrs. Bennet, then left the room.

-----------------------------------------------

The afternoon before the event was spent in chaos. This was largely due to the presence of Mrs. Bennet in the household, as it would have been perfectly organized had she not made the event out to be of the importance of an army charge.

Mrs. Bennet was whispering furiously to Lizzie half an hour before they were due to leave.

"Lizzie! Surely you cannot let Jane go dressed like that!"

Lizzie looked at her mother in confusion, "what on earth do you mean?"

"She is dressed so plainly! She is a beautiful creature – she must use it to her advantage on such occasions as these! Where are her pearls? Her feathers? Her silk? She needs to stand out! Surely you have the resources to adorn her properly, have you not?"

Lizzie sighed at the forcefulness that was her mother. Even throughout her own younger years, such sayings were nothing out of the ordinary. She hoped she could make her mother see.

"I know you care for her, and her well-being, very much. But she prefers it to be this way. Besides, is not simplicity elegance?"

Mrs. Bennet muttered something incomprehensible under her breath and went back to adorning herself with feathers and pearls. "I am getting too old for such quarrels with you, Lizzie," she said soberly after a while, "have you no compassion for my poor nerves?"

----------------------

Lady Catherine De Bourgh knew how to impress and entertain guests. Though an ancient creature, with very little to say – either because she could barely speak anymore, or she would not speak anymore – she still held the countenance of a woman of great power. She was like the anonymous figure in the background, as ancient as the Egyptian tombs, watching with her nearly blind eyes the party unfold into the splendor that was the De Bourghs. Anne, her daughter, now took the place as main host, greeting guests with a superior air that rivaled royalty, though the original Lady was always there, in the background, watching.

Gathered around the fireplace that did, indeed, cost 5,000 pounds apiece, the guests assembled and looked toward their male host; Mr. Collins, as he cleared his throat somewhat nervously to address the small crowd of friends and family.

"Ah, we are gathered now, dear friends, and, uh, family...to, uh,...gather....in the midst of our esteemed Lady – Lady Catherine De Bourgh, and her noble daughter....Miss Anne, who-ah, has all the superior qualities a woman wishes to, ah...possess. They are...ah...generosity itself, and we, ah, would like to, ah, thank them immeasurably and I bid you a, ah, gracious evening.....thank you," he stuttered out, while Charlotte stood in the background, fiddling her hands nervously.

Charlotte made her way over to her husband quickly, and proceeded to whisper into his ear.

"Oh, ah – yes. I almost forgot," he realized with a little embarrassment as he shooed her away again, then turned once again to the crowd.

"And a toast! Oh – what? No champaign? Oh. Uhh...fine, a...warm greeting to my son, William, on his 20th birthday!"

The crowd clapped in the general direction of the shy young man, who stood somewhat awkwardly in the back of the room. He nodded a little to them all, cheeks flushed.

William Collins junior was not like his father. Unlike the original Mr. Collins, Charlotte had raised him with love and tenderness, carefully directing the bad influences of his father away, and within time, the boy grew up to be very much like Charlotte herself; shy, mannered and logical. He was still exceptionally young, and the thought of moving into a home as great as the former Bennet residence daunted him, as he was so accustomed to the humble little parish he had grown up in. Not being adventurous, strong-willed or eccentric, William preferred the comforts of the country to anything London may offer, and being removed from the secluded parish, where few visitors passed in and out, into a neighborhood where expectations of him were surely to rise, he found himself wishing he was not twenty years old, but a boy again.

"William Collins," came a voice from behind him, which was unfortunate, as he had hoped to remain unnoticed for the remainder of the party. He spun around ungracefully, but was pleasantly surprised to be standing face-to-face with Elizabeth Darcy, a woman who had often been looked at as an Aunt for the majority of his life.

"Mrs. Darcy," he bowed respectfully, feeling common courtesy was still necessary even for such an old friend.

"How exciting a time it must be for you, dear! I should imagine you will be blissful after tonight," she slipped an arm through his leading him away from the corner of the room into the light.

"And you are the star tonight! There is no need to hide; you are surrounded by friends here."

He laughed a little; feeling a little more relaxed. Then, all the relaxation slipped away all too soon upon the sight of another figure. Mrs. Darcy, too, recognized the face.

"Ah! William, you remember my daughter, Jane, do you not?"

There was a brief courtesy from the young woman who did not seem to blend into the array of feathers and bright colors surrounding her. She was simple, but far from plain.

"Yes – yes, I believe we were friends when we were younger," he added quickly, trying to collect himself, and any calm he had lost.

"I still make a splendid mud pie," she told him straight-faced.

They laughed.

Mrs. Darcy, now satisfied with herself and the good deed she had done, made her way back to her husband. He stood, too, in the corner of the room, only willing to dance if she was his partner.

"You are the only tolerable woman here," he would tell her every time.

They smiled at one another as she approached, and were content to stand by each other for the remainder of the evening, not saying a word.

Mrs. Bennet, however, was far from enjoying herself. Though there would be plenty of gossip to relate to her friends the next day, her thoughts were with the young man who had driven her out of her own home; the young man, who was at present conversing happily with her granddaughter. How could her granddaughter bare his company after knowing what he had done to her dear grand-mama? It may have been the legal system of things, but their were morals at stake here; one of which being that her granddaughter was a Darcy, a _Darcy_. And that impertinent boy was nothing but the offspring of Charlotte Lucas and a poor minister, and yet he had the audacity to look at her like that. She would have to lecture Jane after this was all over, before any of his longing looks get into her head.

Mrs. Bennet was not entirely unobservant, for indeed young William _was_ looking at Jane a good deal, but Mrs. Bennet could not see the deep admiration and awe in his eyes, either. She could not understand the respect he felt, or the chasteness to his admiration. Mrs. Bennet did not have to point out William's own insignificance to him, either – for he knew that, too. He knew Miss Jane Darcy was higher above him in every aspect ever recorded in history, so his thoughts stayed just that – passing thoughts of the beautiful dark hair, dark eyed girl before him.

"No, I have no other siblings," Jane answered his passing question, slightly irritated as she knew he already knew that. What was he so distracted about?

"Nor I," he agreed.

"Yes," Jane said, laughing a little at the sheer absurdity of it all, "I know that, too."

William's attention now returned to her a little sheepishly, cowering under the stare of her dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to flicker with the intuition he would never attain. He felt disabled, unworthy of her company. At any point of the conversation he was sure she would produce a topic a mere country boy like himself would know nothing about, and she would realize what a fool he was and leave. He dreaded the time when such a situation would surely come.

"I am sorry," he said honestly, "I must bore you – I confess, though, I am beyond nervousness."

At this interesting piece of trivia Jane's eyes lit up, anxious to dig up the reason. "And why is that, sir?"

He deliberated for a moment, torn between telling the complete truth – which was extremely ungentlemanly – the half truth, or an out-right lie. He decided a little truth was the best course to take.

"I am a meek sort of a person, Miss Darcy, and I find conversing with people intimidating. I am also terrified of settling into a place where I will be expected to be no longer the boy I am – but a man."

Upon saying this, his cheeks flushed a little, ashamed of confessing his faults, yet curious as to how she would respond to such an odd piece of information. He pitied her, as she would have to conjure up a perfectly civil response, which would be a challenge.

She did not hesitate for a moment. "Perhaps it would be benefiting to you if you practiced."

He nodded shyly, not wanting to say anymore on the subject. At any rate, he saw she was beginning to bore of the dull conversation, her eyes wandered about the room for anything to save her from the far from stimulating conversation. For the first time in her life, she was relieved to see Mrs. Bennet waving her over, and gratefully excused herself to join her Grandmother.

William watched her walk away quickly, hating the way how he was so boring – so generic. He longed to be looked up to, to be respected, to be _seen_. Instead, he was who he had been cursed to be – shy, poor, and humble; not worthy of the attention or love on anyone.

Especially not her.


End file.
